


If You Let Me

by lillupon



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Insecure Steve Rogers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Pet Names, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Shy Steve Rogers, Virgin Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:32:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9964724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillupon/pseuds/lillupon
Summary: Steve always thought it was silly how easily girls fell for Bucky, even though they must have known he would only break their hearts. Told himself thathewould require more than a few sweet words and a cocky grin. But thinking that while watching Bucky charm his way into a girl’s bed for the night is completely different from being on the receiving end of it.Bucky teaches Steve how to flirt.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Если ты мне позволишь](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14161245) by [Black_Mamba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Mamba/pseuds/Black_Mamba)



“Wait up, Steve!” Bucky calls from behind him.

Steve doesn’t slow down though his breath is starting to pick up from effort. He just jams his fists into his pockets and tucks his chin into his collar to shield against the cold night breeze. Bucky doesn’t even have to jog to catch up to him. His long legs eat up the distance between them until they’re walking side-by-side.

“Alice wouldn’t know a good thing if it punched her right in the face,” Bucky says loyally.

“Shove it, Buck.”

It’s Bucky’s birthday. Steve had been hoping they would spend the evening after work together, just the two of them. He had planned on taking Bucky to Coney Island, and he had even saved up a couple of cents so they could go on a few rides and enjoy a hot dog each. Except Bucky told Steve he arranged for them to go dancing instead. Insisted, “You’ll love Alice, I promise. She’s a good girl. Tiny thing with the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen. Prettiest curls in her hair.” With all the praise Bucky was heaping on Alice, Steve wondered why Bucky didn’t just take her out himself. But Bucky wanted him to at least try to get to know her, so Steve slapped a smile on his face and resolved to make their night a good one.

That went out the window when Alice took one look at him before hooking her arm through Bucky’s, nevermind that Bucky had his own date under his other arm. Steve can’t say he was surprised. He just shrugged and resigned himself to spending the next few hours hovering at the edge of the dance hall while Bucky took turns spinning Alice and Tillie around the floor.

“Are you really that upset about Alice, Steve? I mean—”

“I swear to god, if you’re going to say, ‘You should be used to it by now’, I will hit you.”

“I wasn’t going to say that!” Bucky protests. “Come on, Steve. You know I would never say that. I just… You should have told me you wanted to leave. Why didn’t you?”

Bucky didn’t hear it, but by some miraculous and cruel coincidence, Steve’s ears weren’t a complete piece of crap and he overheard Alice tell Tillie, “I’m sure Steve’s nice. He’s just… you know. Not that attractive. I don’t want him to think I’m interested in him or anything.”

And Steve _knows_ , okay? That he’s…Not that attractive. He owns a mirror, thanks. It just hurts to hear someone else say it.

So Steve pulled his arms through his jacket and got up and left, without saying bye to Alice or Tillie, or even Bucky. He wanted Bucky to look up from dancing to search for him. And call Steve petty, but he _wanted_ Bucky’s face to fall into that wounded puppy expression when he realised Steve had left. Maybe then it would finally get through Bucky’s head that Steve wasn’t interested in dames, and dames weren’t interested in him.

“I can’t figure out what you tell them,” Steve deflects, “to get them to agree to go on a date with me. That I’m a millionaire? That I’m six foot and 200 pounds of muscle? That I got shoulders so wide I can’t fit through the door?”

Bucky gives him a pained look. “I only tell them the truth, honest. That you’ve got the most gorgeous baby blue eyes, and that you’re an artist that puts Michelangelo to shame. That you fight for the little guy and once knocked a guy out for disrespecting a dame.”

“And you conveniently forget to mention that I also look like this,” Steve says, waving a hand over himself.

“Hey, cut that out,” Bucky says sharply. “For the record, I think you’re gorgeous. Blond hair, blue eyes. Killer smile. What’s not to like?”

“It kind of feels like you’re insulting me here.”

“I’m not,” Bucky says. “I mean it.”

Steve snorts. “Whatever, Buck.”

-

They’re back in their apartment. Bucky lounges with his feet propped up on a footstool, head tipped back over the armrest in a way that elongates his throat. Determined to have fun even without the companionship of their dates, Bucky had brought out a bottle of cheap alcohol. Steve had taken a few swigs, enough for a gentle buzz to thrum in his head. Bucky has the bottle perched on his thigh now, playing idly with the neck, circling his pointer finger over the mouth. Steve sits pressed into the other corner of the couch, trying not to make it too obvious that he has been sketching Bucky for the past half-hour.

“I’ll teach you,” Bucky announces loudly.

Steve hums questioningly, dragging his eyes up from where they were focussed on Bucky’s hands. “Teach me what?”

“How to talk to dames. Romance them.”

Steve makes a face, annoyed that Bucky is still going on about this. “You don’t know when to give up, do you?”

“Reminds me of someone else I know,” Bucky mutters under his breath.

Steve ignores him. “I’m fine on my own. I don’t need you setting me up with dames.”

Bucky swings up to seated. “That’s because you don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

“I think I have a rough idea. You only remind me every other day how good it feels to kiss a girl,” Steve says.

“And it’s a damn shame you haven’t experienced it yourself.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I know your game, Buck. You use the same lines on every girl. You just change the name. Hell, you don’t even do that sometimes. You just call them sweetheart or sugar.”

“You can’t tell me they don’t work,” Bucky says with a cheeky grin.

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that,” Steve grumbles. “The only reason why dames put up with your cheesy lines is because you have a pretty face to make up for it.”

The grin on Bucky’s face widens. “Steve Rogers, did you just admit that I, Bucky Barnes, am attractive?”

Steve flushes, heart tripping up in his chest. He can’t let Bucky find out just how good-looking Steve thinks he is. Aiming for nonchalance, he says, “I’m not completely blind, Buck. I can tell when someone is attractive.”

For a split second, Bucky stills and Steve wonders if he has screwed up. Then Bucky’s expression melts into a smug look, an infuriating and cocky little smirk curling up his lips. Bucky settles in the couch, spreading his arms over the back of it and letting his knees fall open.

“Say what you want about my lines, but I bet you wouldn’t stand a chance against me if I flirted with you.”

“Get over yourself, Buck. You ain’t that hot.”

“Come on, Steve,” Bucky wheedles, sidling up to him. “Let me show you how it’s done. You know I can’t stand seeing my best guy all alone. You just need a bit of confidence and experience. Then you’re set to go.”

Steve heaves a put-upon sigh and flips his sketchbook shut, setting it aside. He knows that when Bucky gets into one of his moods, he won’t let the topic go. Sometimes he thinks Bucky _likes_ seeing him uncomfortable and squirming. Maybe he likes knowing how much better he is than Steve at getting girls, but Steve tries not to think about that too much.

“Give it a try, okay?” Bucky says. “Pretend I’m a girl. Say something nice to me.”

Steve lets his eyes roam over Bucky’s face, taking in his lightly stubbled jaw, the gentle divot of his chin that Steve has longed for years to press his thumb against. The way Bucky’s eyes crinkle with growing amusement with each second that passes in silence. “Um, I like your eyes,” he tries.

Bucky bursts out laughing, dropping his head onto Steve’s shoulder. Steve colours with shame and shrugs Bucky off him.

“This is stupid, Buck. It doesn’t matter if I’m good with words if dames cross me off the moment they lay eyes on me.”

“No, that was great,” Bucky says earnestly. “I’m charmed, I really am. You just… have to start out small. Build up to it. You start talking about how beautiful she is from the beginning and you’ll scare her off.”

God, Bucky has this down to a fucking science, and if that doesn’t make Steve all kinds of jealous, he doesn’t know what will.

“The hardest part is getting her interested and keeping her interested. But when she’s warmed up to you… Well, if she’s stuck around for that long, she’s probably a little keen on you. That’s when you can start to lay it on thick.”

Steve startles when Bucky drapes an arm over his shoulders.

“Relax, doll. Not gonna try anything funny. Just wanna be close to you,” Bucky says. Steve lets go of the tension in his shoulders. This should be familiar—Bucky drags him beneath his arm all the time—but in this situation, when they’re alone in their apartment and Bucky is teaching him how to _flirt_ of all things... It makes a guy nervous. Especially since Steve can feel Bucky’s eyes on him, taking in every inch of his scrawny body. Judging. Steve squirms in place, and as though Bucky could sense his discomfort, he immediately gives Steve's shoulder a squeeze.

“What’s got you all nervous?”

“You’re staring, Buck,” Steve says quietly.

“Can’t help it, babydoll. You’re gorgeous. Prettiest one in the hall tonight,” Bucky says.

Steve laughs, a wobbly and uncertain sound. “You’re so ridiculous when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not,” Bucky insists. “I haven’t even finished the bottle.”

A half bottle is enough to knock Steve out and have him throwing up the next morning. “I can smell it on your breath, Buck.”

“Try me again when I’m sober. I’d still say the same thing,” Bucky says seriously. “You were the only one I wanted to dance with tonight. Wanted to show you off so bad… Make everyone jealous. Wanted everyone to see the prettiest fella in all of Brooklyn was there, and he was dancing with _me_.”

Steve peeps, feeling the tips of his ears grow warm.

“You’re gorgeous, babydoll. I mean it.” Bucky gently threads their fingers together, rubbing his thumb over Steve’s knuckles. “I love your hands. Your perfect fingers.” He rolls Steve’s left ring finger between his own forefinger and thumb. “Wanna put a ring on you. Would you let me do that?”

Steve yanks his hands away from Bucky’s grasp, cheeks so hot he fears steam is rolling off them. “Bucky!” Jesus, Bucky doesn’t say he wants to marry every girl he takes out for the night, does he? Maybe he does it to get something more than a kiss, even from the good Catholic girls.

Bucky grins and continues on undeterred, “Love your collarbones. Every time your shirt slips from your shoulders, I get a glimpse of them. They drive me crazy.”

Steve self-consciously tugs his shirt high up his shoulder and Bucky laughs, a rich soothing sound. Bucky sets a hand on the crook of Steve’s neck, fingers slipping beneath his shirt, pushing the fabric down lower. He thumbs at the hollow of Steve’s collarbone. “Look at you… God, you have no idea how beautiful you are. How much I want you.”

Steve lets out a strangled chuckle, embarrassed and flattered to hell and back. A little angry and disappointed because none of this is real. Bucky is just pulling out stock phrases that he uses on every girl to get his hand up their skirts.

And it’s working.

He always thought it was silly how easily girls fell for Bucky, even though they must have known he would only break their hearts. Told himself that _he_ would require more than a few sweet words and a cocky grin. But thinking that while watching Bucky charm his way into a girl’s bed for the night is completely different from being on the receiving end of it.

“But you know what I love the most about you?” Bucky asks.

Steve has to look away. He’s shaking, heart hammering so hard against his ribs he thinks he might actually trigger an asthma attack.

With a crooked finger, Bucky gently tips Steve’s chin up so their eyes meet. “Your eyes.” His voice goes soft and quiet. “A fella could get lost in them.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

Bucky leans in then, like—like he’s going to _kiss_ Steve.

Steve ducks his head and shoves Bucky away with a hand on his chest. “You’ll call anyone pretty if you get a kiss out of it,” he says, voice trembling. Every single goddamn inch of him trembling because that was just too much for his weak heart to handle.

Bucky nuzzles his face into the crook of Steve’s shoulders, humming. “I do not,” he says. “I only say it if I mean it.” His hands move to grip Steve at the waist, his clever fingers slipping beneath the hem of Steve’s shirt. His palms are calloused from working at the docks, and the rough drag of his hands along Steve’s bare sides sparks like fire over his skin.

“Nice try, Buck,” Steve says, ignoring the pang of hurt that flickers through him. He puts his hands overtop Bucky’s to keep them from moving. “But I heard you use that one on Janine the other week.”

Bucky rests his cheek on Steve’s shoulder and peers up at him from beneath his lashes. “What’s a guy gotta do to for a chance with someone like you?”

For a brief moment, Steve is tongue-tied. Bucky is pouting lightly at him, the curve of his lips enticing and alarmingly close. Steve snaps himself out of his daze, but not quickly enough, if the amused scrunch of Bucky’s eyes is anything to judge by.

“See something you like?” Bucky teases. “Don’t gotta hold back, doll. You can take what you want.”

Steve huffs. “Get over yourself.”

“Come on,” Bucky encourages. “You can touch me.” He takes Steve’s hands and guides them to his chest.

And Steve, damn him, doesn’t fight it.

He gulps audibly as he splays his fingers across Bucky’s chest, marveling at the hard muscle beneath his hands. He has seen Bucky’s bare torso before, in the hot summer months and in the mornings when Bucky shaves over the water basin. He had carefully studied the flex of Bucky’s muscles and tucked it away for future sketches, to be completed in privacy.

Steve bites down on his lower lip. Experimentally, he passes the pads of his thumbs over Bucky’s nipples, the soft yield of them.

Bucky’s breath hitches. “Steve, you dog. Didn’t know you had it in you.” The words are playful, but Bucky’s voice is anything but, rough in a way Steve has never heard before.

Steve peeks up at Bucky, mouth going dry when he finds Bucky looking at him with blown eyes and parted lips.

“You ever kiss anyone before?” Bucky murmurs.

“You know I haven’t, Buck,” Steve answers.

It doesn’t feel like they’re playing anymore. At least, not to Steve. This feels real and dangerous. There are lines between friends—even ones like Steve and Bucky—that you don’t cross and this is one of them.

And yet, here they are, barrelling downhill on a direct course to overshoot this boundary.

If Steve were a better man, he would put a stop to this. He would tell Bucky to go to sleep, and that if he really wanted to kiss Steve, he could do it in the morning. But Steve is not a good man, and he knows that come morning, Bucky won’t look twice at him. Not like the way he looks at Steve now, eyes half-lidded and smile lazy. His gaze is hot and dark and Steve’s gut churns with need.

And Steve, he has wanted and waited so long for this.

So when Bucky dips his head down to nose along the line of Steve’s shoulders, Steve lets him. Then Bucky starts to press wet, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. Steve squeezes his eyes shut, unable to help the soft, helpless noises he makes. He feels Bucky’s lips curling into a smile against his skin, teasing and confident and Steve is so suddenly and achingly hard in his pants.

Bucky slides one hand up his back to cup him at the nape of his neck. Steve’s brain whites out the instant Bucky’s lips touches his. He is only vaguely aware of the startled, pathetic noise that escapes him, quickly muffled by Bucky pressing into him with more insistence.

His best friend is kissing him. Kissing him and holding him the way he holds dames. He never thought there would be a day in his life where he got to experience this: Bucky’s big hand on his waist, grounding him in place when Steve feels like he might float away. (The bitter taste of alcohol.) Bucky taking his lower lip between his teeth and tugging. That first tentative curl of their tongues that turns into something sloppy and wet. They kiss for what feels like hours, but is probably only a few minutes.

Steve breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against Bucky’s neck, panting heavily. Debating whether he wants oxygen or Bucky’s lips back on him. He had no idea kissing could feel so good; he knows why Bucky makes such a big deal of it now, recounting in excruciating detail every time—

He really needs to stop thinking about Bucky with other girls.

Bucky sets a hand on his thigh, runs it up and down soothingly, each time moving closer and closer to the vee of Steve’s legs. His fingers dip to caress the sensitive skin of Steve’s inner thighs.

“Buck? What are you doing?” Steve whispers, like he has no idea where this is going, like he isn’t a feather-soft touch away from coming all over himself.

“Shh…” Bucky hushes, inching into him and backing him up against the corner of the sofa until Steve is caged in. “Let me do this for you?”

And how the hell is Steve supposed to say no when Bucky’s voice has dropped to a low vibration?

“Will you let me?” Bucky asks again, running his fingers over Steve’s erection.

Steve lets out a half-choked moan, hips bucking up helplessly in search of more friction. “Buck, you jerk. I—come _on_.”

Bucky flashes a downright wicked smile and then cups him through his pants. Steve almost shoots off then and there, hand flying to grip Bucky’s arms hard. His fingers dig into Bucky’s biceps, causing Bucky to moan.

Bucky presses his palm into him experimentally. Steve squirms and pants as pleasure shoots up his spine with every gentle squeeze of Bucky’s hand. He is beyond overwhelmed that Bucky, his _best friend_ and the person he has been in love with for the better part of his life, is touching him in this way.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Bucky asks.

Unable to find the words, Steve just nods. He wants _more_. He wants to feel the roughness of Bucky’s calluses on his naked flesh. Wants more than just a hand rubbing on him through far too many layers of fabric. His hips jerk uncontrollably, pushing further into Bucky’s hand.

As though reading his mind, Bucky says, “Tell me what you want, doll. Can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me. Just wanna make you feel good, so you gotta let me know.”

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve half-laughs, half-moans, tries to keep his tone light in an aim for normalcy. Bucky damn well knows what Steve is after. That asshole just wants to see him blush and stumble through the request. “Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?”

“Can’t shut up around you,” Bucky agrees. “You make me stupid.” He bites at the hinge of Steve’s jaw, mouthing along the angle of it. He presses one last feather-light kiss to the skin behind Steve’s ear and whispers, “Here’s a tip for the future, Stevie: if she can still talk, you’re not doing a good enough job.”

Bucky pulls his hand away, smirking when Steve whines inadvertently in loss. Bucky licks his palm—and isn’t _that_ a sight to preserve in memory—then slides his slickened hand into Steve’s briefs. Steve inhales sharply, eyes fluttering shut as Bucky’s fingers wrap around him and begin to stroke, strong and steady.

Bucky’s heavy-lidded gaze is focussed intently on him and Steve doesn’t really know _what_ Bucky sees in him. But whatever it is, Steve thinks it’s something good. The colour is high on Bucky’s cheeks and his pink lips are parted and glistening, like he had to lick them over and over again because Steve was making his mouth dry.

His gaze falls on Bucky’s lap, the sizeable tent in his shorts, the patch of wet blooming there. Steve groans, going fever-hot from the knowledge that Bucky is just as affected as he is. He rolls his hips up into Bucky’s fist, bliss shooting up his spine every time Bucky twists his wrist on the upstroke.

With his free hand, Bucky pushes Steve’s pants down his hips until they bunch up at his thighs. Steve shivers as his heated flesh meets cool air. He tries to close his legs a little, embarrassed about revealing this part of him for Bucky’s eyes—Jesus, Bucky is _staring_ —but hands tighten on his thighs, keeping him open.

It’s easier when he closes his eyes and just feels: the heat radiating off Bucky, the delicious friction of Bucky’s hand. It’s so much better than when he does it to himself, and he wonders vaguely why they hadn’t done this sooner. Bucky’s taking him to the edge and keeping him there, infuriatingly slow when he wants it faster.

Too shy to ask for what he wants, Steve clasps his hand over Bucky’s, a high and desperate whine falling from his lips. Bucky seems to understand anyway, stroking him that much harder. His mouth falls slack, hips jerking, stomach coiling hot as pleasure crests inside him.

“Oh God, babydoll,” Bucky groans. “Look at you… Look at _you_ , you’re so gorgeous. How did I get this lucky?”

Steve shakes his head. He’s the one that should be asking that question.

“You really have no idea, do you?”

Steve doesn’t know what Bucky is talking about, can’t think beyond the heat of Bucky’s touch and the orgasm building low in his belly.

“You close, doll?” Bucky asks, and Steve nods furiously, making tiny half-sounds that are the start of Bucky’s name. “Go ahead. I wanna see you.”

It’s the combination of Bucky’s voice and hand on him, the fact that this is every single fantasy Steve has ever had rolled up into one impossible moment, that sends him over the edge.

Steve comes with a sob, toes clenching, thighs tightening around the hand between his legs. Bucky strokes him through his release. Steve moans, his head lolling back, hips stuttering weakly as he spurts into Bucky’s hand. Bucky is murmuring into his ear, and then he is kissing Steve, deep and perfect.

When they part, Steve is wheezing harsh and ugly.

“You with me, Stevie?” Bucky asks, placing a hand on his chest. “Just breathe, sweetheart. I got you.”

It takes an embarrassingly long time for him to regain control of his breathing and he hates himself for it. With a huff, Steve throws his head back on the couch.

“That good, huh?” Bucky teases. He runs his clean hand through Steve’s hair, pushing back his sweaty bangs and smiling at him.

Steve lets out a breathless laugh. “I just have bad lungs. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Not even a little?” Bucky pouts.

Steve can’t help but laugh again, giddy. The pucker of Bucky’s lips soften and Steve is so overcome by affection he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He stares into Bucky’s bright and crinkled eyes. His heart is racing, and not just because of his release minutes earlier.

Bucky is, and has always been, the end of the line for him. Bucky _is it_ for him.

And he thinks, just maybe, he could be the same for Bucky.

“So did you end up learning anything from that, or do we have to do it again?”

Steve blinks, dragged out of the warm haze of his mind. “Huh? Learn what?”

“About how to make a mess out of a girl’s panties.”

And just like that, Steve’s heart plummets. It’s like being dunked into cold water. The smile slips from his face. Whatever just happened, it didn’t happen because Bucky liked him. Steve was a fool to believe that this meant anything for even a second. Bucky’s own grin begins to falter. He wets his lips, opens his mouth, and whatever it is he’s about to say, Steve doesn’t want to hear it.

In a burst of strength, Steve shoves Bucky away, and kicks him right off the sofa. Bucky lands on his ass and grunts out an indignant, “Ow! What the hell was that for?” He looks up at Steve, eyes wide, and Steve can’t be sure if he imagined the flash of pain through them. All he knows is that he needs to get away.

Steve makes a break for the safety of their room, locking it behind him with fumbling fingers. After a second thought, he swipes the thin blanket and pillow off their bed. Throwing open the door—and coming face-to-face with a startled Bucky—he flings the blanket and pillow at Bucky.

“You’re sleeping on the sofa!” Steve says, and then closes the door with a slam. He turns to rest his back against it, and slides down to the floor, drawing his knees into his chest. He digs his fingernails into his palms in an attempt to keep his hands from shaking.

What the hell just happened? Did they really—? Steve rubs furiously at his eyes and takes a few steadying breaths. His throat has gone tight. His nose stings, and if his lower lip wobbles, at least no one is around to see it. He can’t remember the last time he felt this pathetic. This is even worse than how he feels when Bucky has to finish the fights he starts.

He’s overwhelmed and confused. Frustrated that the only guy he ever gave a damn about only touched him out of pity, and even then it took a good amount of alcohol to do it. Angry at himself for being angry with Bucky, when Bucky was only trying to help him. No other friend would do what Bucky did for him; there is no one else out there that would put themselves on the line so Steve wouldn’t embarrass himself when he shared his first time with a girl.

And how did he thank Bucky? By freaking out and locking him out of his own room.

Bucky knocks twice on the door. “Steve? I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he says. “I’m sorry, I—I won’t do it again. Will you talk to me?”

That’s the problem, isn’t it? Steve _wants_ Bucky to do it again. He wants this to mean something, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it without making everything worse and losing their friendship.

“Steve?”

“Not tonight, Buck.” His voice wobbles precariously on those words.

Steve can practically hear Bucky clamping his mouth shut. Tense seconds of quiet pass. Then, the floorboards creak as Bucky walks away.

Eventually, he picks himself up off the floor. He has to pass by Bucky if he wants to use the bathroom, and he doesn’t think he could bear to do that right now. With a grimace, he pulls off his shirt and uses it to clean himself up. He crawls into bed and tugs the remaining blanket up to his shoulders. Lies there and stares at the ceiling, knowing that sleep won’t come tonight. He wonders what Bucky is doing in the living room; if he is also staring up at the ceiling, feeling cold and hollow.

Steve isn’t one to run from fights, but he wants to run from this. He dreads the morning when he will have to confront Bucky. When he will have to hear from Bucky that this didn’t mean anything, and that he made things awkward for the both of them by reacting the way he did.

-

In the morning, Steve has to drag himself out of the bedroom. Bucky is already up, stirring a pot of oatmeal on the stove. His back is to Steve.

Steve clears his throat. “Good morning.”

“Hi.”

Steve winces. “Can I help with breakfast?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Just about done. You go on and sit.” He spoons oatmeal into two bowls, pours the tiniest bit of milk into each and sprinkles brown sugar over top.

Steve pulls out a chair, the sound of the legs dragging over the wood gratingly loud.

They eat in a silence broken only by the clinking of spoons against bowls. If this isn’t the most awkward and stilted moment of his life, Steve doesn’t know what is. This isn’t the usual sleepy quiet of their mornings; this is them waiting for the knife to drop. The very air feels thick, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Steve takes a deep breath and says, “What happened last night...”

“We were drunk,” Bucky says immediately, even though Steve wasn’t. But it’s a way out, and Steve will take it. “We weren’t really thinking and—you know I was just trying to help you, right Steve? Didn’t mean for things to turn out the way they did.”

“I know, I’m sorry too. Let’s just forget about what happened?”

Bucky’s lips twist into a half-smile. “Sure.”

Steve smiles back tentatively and it feels like everything is going to be okay.

They’re going to be okay. Bucky is Steve’s best friend, and nothing will ever change that.

For a while, it’s hard to be around Bucky. He can feel the phantom sensation of Bucky’s lips against his skin. Whenever Bucky drapes an arm over his shoulders, he has to fight against melting into Bucky’s side. He sees red when Bucky takes a dame dancing and kisses her at her doorstep, his big hands on her small waist.

Over time, they fall back into their usual routines. During the winter months, they push their beds together again without talking about it. Sometimes he wakes up with Bucky’s chest to his back, a heavy arm slung over his shoulder. In the quiet hours of the morning, he lets himself be lulled into the space between wakefulness and sleep by Bucky’s warmth. Stays still and tries not to think about how easy it would be to turn in Bucky’s arm and kiss him. Tamps down the disappointment he feels when Bucky wakes and extricates himself from Steve, gentle so as to not wake him up.

Steve convinces himself he could be okay with this, if he doesn’t linger too long on what they could have been. Tells himself that even if for some crazy reason, Bucky wanted him too, they could never be together.

Then the US declares war on Germany. All of a sudden, there are more important things to worry about than whether or not he’ll be able to let go of his feelings for Bucky. Like Bucky going off to war, and how the hell he’s going to find a way to go after him.

Like Bucky falling from the train, and Steve; well, Steve would follow Bucky anywhere.

 

* * *

 

70 years later, Steve has Bucky again.

It has been three months since Bucky has come out of cryo in Wakanda. With the help of his therapist, Bucky has been making a slow, stop-start-reverse recovery. Steve is trying to be as supportive as he can be without being overbearing. It’s a fine line to toe. Bucky isn’t the same person Steve remembers growing up with, but it doesn’t bother him. 70 years is a lot of time for people to change, and Steve is a different man now, too.

And anyway, Steve likes the man Bucky has grown into, with all his scars and quiet strength, even if he doesn’t like _how_ that growth happened. Bucky is thoughtful and contemplative, careful in a way he has never been before because of what he is capable of. He is ruggedly handsome now, could still charm the pants off a woman if he put his mind to it. He doesn’t seem interested in all that anymore, and Steve hates himself for being relieved.

Bucky hasn’t been cleared for missions yet, so while Steve is off fighting bad guys, Bucky spends most of his time lazing around the apartment or exploring the city. Refamiliarizing himself with the streets and buildings. Sometimes he fiddles around in Tony’s workshop, endlessly awed by the inventions of modern science.

Steve likes it this way. This is the way things should have been. Bucky never wanted to go to war, never wanted to fight for HYDRA. All he ever wanted was to work hard, eat good food, and make sure Steve was okay. This is all Steve has ever wanted, too. Bucky is safe and working towards recovery. Whenever Steve is home, they get to share meals that leave even their supersoldier selves stuffed. They’re living together.

So life is good, and Steve tries not to be greedy and ask for more, even though a tiny part of him questions, _Aren’t I allowed to be selfish just this once?_

-

It’s a quiet Friday night, the first one in weeks Steve has had to himself. He makes himself comfortable on the couch, throwing his feet up onto the ottoman. He sets the bowl of popcorn on the cushion beside him, popping a handful into his mouth. Bucky is hooking up his laptop to the flat screen so they can continue with part two of their Gundam marathon.

Bucky adores robots. He likes all the Transformer movies even though Steve thinks they’re awful. He recently discovered Pacific Rim and won’t stop talking about it. He’s convinced that they would be 100% drift compatible. Asks Steve what their Jaeger name should be. Captain Winter? American Soldier? Steve just tells him that he is bad at coming up with names. But Steve also sketches up a few designs for their Jaeger and drivesuits, feeding the fire of Bucky’s excitement.

Once Bucky hits play, he plops down beside Steve. “You sure you really want to be spending your free time watching cartoons with me?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to spend my day off with my best guy?” Steve asks. “Plus things are getting pretty good. So.”

Bucky shrugs. “I thought you were gonna go out with Emily. Natasha has been trying to set you up with her forever.”

“I’m not really interested.” Steve finds it hard to relate to people nowadays, not quite 32, but not quite 102 either. And anyway, now that Bucky is back in his life, his priorities are different.

“You’re telling me no one’s caught your eye this century?” Bucky asks, raising a brow. “Damn, Rogers. Maybe lower your standards a little.”

Steve laughs. “I still don’t know how to talk to women, I guess. You were always the better one at that.”

“You don’t have to talk now. Not when you look like _this_ ,” Bucky says, waving a vague hand over Steve’s own person. “You just gotta sit and look pretty.”

“Yeah, I’ll be able to hold down a woman as long as I keep my mouth shut,” Steve says sarcastically. “That’s the secret to a lasting relationship.”

“I’m just looking out for you. You spend so much time saving other people’s lives you don’t have one for yourself.” There he goes again, looking equal parts upset and mad about Steve’s life choices. They’ve talked about this before. Bucky doesn’t think Steve gets out enough. He thinks Steve should find more things—a _someone_ —to make him happy. “You should call Emily. See if she’s still interested.”

“Don’t need Emily. I got you now, Buck,” Steve points out. “You make me happy.”

The lights of their apartment are set low and warm, but Steve swears Bucky’s cheeks turn pink. He doesn’t get to look too closely though, before Bucky grabs a nearby cushion and thwacks it gently over Steve’s head. Laughing, Steve pushes the pillow away.

“You’re making me blush, Steve,” Bucky says. “Try saying that line to a girl. I guarantee she’ll marry you.”

“Jeez, Buck,” Steve huffs softly. How is he supposed to say that no one had captured him the way Bucky did? That Peggy came the closest, but even then, she was still miles off. “That’s one part of you that hasn’t changed a damn bit.” To take the attention off himself, he asks, “How about you then? You have anyone you’re interested in?”

Bucky hesitates for a moment before answering. “Yeah, I do.”

Steve tries not to let the surprise show on his face. Swallowing, he asks, “That right? Tell me about her.”

“Blond hair, blue eyes. Killer smile,” Bucky says quietly, a wry twist to his mouth.

Steve freezes. Suddenly he’s 18 and back in Brooklyn, throat closed up with hurt when Alice called him ugly. He’s pulling on his jacket and pushing through the crowd of moving bodies, Bucky yelling his name behind him. Steve is 18 and in love with his best friend, and Bucky has just spent the entire night calling him sweetheart and kissing him.

Does Bucky remember that night? Or is there someone else in his life that fits the description?

“Steve, I—you gotta know…” Bucky exhales a stream of air. “You gotta know that meant every word I said back then. I still think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on. I still wanna...” Bucky doesn’t finish his sentence.

“Bucky, what are you trying to say here?”

Bucky barks out a laugh. “Steve, you idiot. Do you really not know?” Steve answers with silence. Bucky gives a sad smile and says, “I’m crazy about you. I still am. HYDRA put my brain through a blender, but if there’s anything I can be sure of, it’s how much I love you.”

“Oh.” Steve can’t speak, the words all mixed up in his head. He’s not sure he even remember what words _are._

“Just wanted you to know, Stevie,” he says with a false cheer to his voice. “Only feels fair that you do. ‘M not expecting anything, though, so don’t go all martyr on me and force yourself to feel the same way.” Bucky makes to stand up, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “You probably don’t want me around right now, so I’ll just be in my room.”

Quickly, Steve reaches out to stop him. “And if I do?” he asks. When Bucky just stares at him blankly, he clarifies, “If I do feel the same way about you?”

Bucky gapes, mouth opening and closing. Then he gathers himself up and says, “I’d tell you to get your head checked. When I said ‘lower your standards’, I didn’t mean settle for someone like me.”

“Dunno. I mean, I always thought you were too good for me, so I kind of gave up hope of ever getting a chance with you.”

“That was a long time ago, Steve. I’m not exactly a catch anymore—”

“Bucky,” Steve says firmly. “I’ve wanted you since I was twelve. Eighty years, Buck. That’s an entire lifetime. Are you really going to try to tell me I can’t have you? Because that would be really, really cruel.”

“Do you mean that?” Bucky asks, tentative and unsure.

“Yeah.”

Bucky’s expression softens. He settles back down at Steve’s side, close enough that their thighs press together in a hot line. He brushes his fingers over Steve’s cheeks before moving to cup the nape of his neck. “Come here,” Bucky says softly, exerting the most gentle of pressures on Steve’s neck to bring him in.

And Steve goes, pressing his lips fully against Bucky’s. He makes a wounded noise, his hands coming up to clutch desperately at Bucky’s chest.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs against his mouth. “You really wanna be mine?”

Yes, god yes—a thousand times yes. He wants all that Bucky is for himself, and he wants to give up all of himself to this man. He’ll give Bucky anything. Bucky only has to ask.

“You gonna let me love on you? Show you off? Jesus, prettiest guy in all of America and he chose _me_. I can’t think of a damn thing I did to deserve you.”

“You talk too much, Buck,” Steve complains. “Less talking, more kissing.”

Bucky laughs, a low and gravelly sound that goes straight to Steve’s groin. Bucky obliges him with a sweet kiss. Then, he slides his hands under Steve’s ass and _lifts_ , picking Steve up like he still weighs less than a hundred pounds. Steve groans, wrapping his legs around Bucky’s waist and claiming those plump lips in his again.

Bucky waddles over to his bedroom and sets Steve on the bed, crawling over him. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, babydoll,” he promises, eyes wicked and dark.

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm not super happy with the way this turned out, but I thought it'd be a waste of ~7k words if I didn't post it. Hopefully someone out there likes it!!
> 
> im a bitch for prewar stucky in love holla if you are too


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